!S^,H':l-^£cfj:^ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

%p G0pj}ri5^t l|a. 

Shelf ......C.^5 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



MSMORI& 



<— «-'V2/E^ i^^/Z/T^-V-J 



BY 



'/ 



Doraas R. Gooks 



•^ 



0. 



^f^2^3D 



siisn 2J- iJsnkins 






OCONTO, WISCONSIN. 

REPORTER PUBLISHING COMPANY, PRINTERS. 

1888. 






ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS, IN THE YEAR 1888, 

BY DORCAS F. COOKE, 

IN THE OFFICE OF THE LIBRARIAN OF CONGRESS, AT WASHINGTON, D. C. 



PREFACE. 

As this book contains the first of our writings 
that have ever been placed before the public, in book 
form, it is our fondest desire, dear reader, that your 
criticisms will be charitable and tempered with a 
spirit of mildness. That errors have crept in is only 
human, but we trust that in the midst of them you 
may find food for profitable reflection, and kindly 
overlook the short-comings of 

Your sincere friends, 

Dorcas F. Cooke and Ellen J. Jenkins. 



DEAR HOME, I THINK OF THEE. 



Now Twilight 's falling o'er us, 
And folded all the flowers ; 
The birds have hushed their chorus, 
In the sweet wild w^ood bowers : 
How oft does memory guide me home, 
To woodland, stream and lea; 
Where'er my wandering footsteps roam, 
Dear home, TU think of thee. 

Dear home, TU think of thee, 
As flies the sparrow to its nest, 
And the woods ring, with melody, 
Then, dear Maine, I love thee best : 
I love thy woodland rills, 
I love each bush and tree, 
I love thy old brown ledgy hills. 
Dear home. Til think of thee. 

5 



Dear hoinc. I'll think of thcc, 

Where'er afar I roam. 

When the robin sini;s, in tlie old oak tree, 

And the Martins hither come: 

I look upon each leaf and llower, 

And each stream in the ^lade, 

And think upon the dear old bowers, 

P^rom memor}' ne'er can fade. 



SPRING. 

Tile <^laddest time, tlie children sa)', 
Has come of all the year ; 
Sweet flower, ^i^reen lea, and sin^in<^ bee. 
Will all so soon be here. 
The ripplini^ streams; do laui^liini^ seem 
That lon^- the \alle\'s wind; 
The storms pass o\-er wheat and chner. 
And lea\e their trace behind. 



The fowls in peace that gain release 
From gloomy barn do come 
All talk with joy, without alloy, 
O'er fields they gaily roam, 
The little lambs, with mate and dam 
Now feed the twigs, that's green, 
The pretty pets ; in pasture wet, 
All day may now be seen. 

The blue bird, sparrow, lark and jay. 

Their matin songs now raise. 

The robin's song, the fields along, 

In flocks are ringing praise; 

We love their notes, their joyous notes. 

When all their voices meet, 

Yet spring, tho' gay, we cannot say, 

Of seasons is most sweet. 



ONLY A FEW SHORT YEARS. 



()iil\- a few sliort \cars, crc this. 

Dear little babe, sittini^ on in\' knee, 

Lookini;' up wishfull)', (ov a kiss. 

And clappiiii;- her clinii)lecl haiuls with ^lec ; 

Onl\' a few short years I say, 

Vac her childliood days will be past and i^onc; 

And she will be journeyinL:^ on life's way, 

Aloni^ with the busy, hurrying throni;. 

Only a few short years and we 
Ma\' be parted to meet no more on earth, 
Vi)V the \\a}'s of the Father are strani;e, and lie 
I\Ia\' take from our babe she who i^a\'e her birth, 
And a^^ain, lie ma\' think that our darlincj^ ehild, 
Is too precious a i^em. for this world of woe, 
Ma\' call her home, ere her heart is beguiled, 
Into ways of sin thro' which man)' <;o. 



Yes, this little one. that we love so well, 

Now prattling her baby songs, so gay. 

Trying her baby stories to tell. 

And making our lives bright day by day; 

May be taken from us, and again 

She may live to see trouble in many forms, 

But whichever way the tide turns, my pen 

Only write, God guide her through life's storms. 



CHARITY. 

Define the word ; can any one show. 
Whence its origin ? or whither does it flow : 
Is it pomp or beauteous lightning of the e\'e ? 
Or self-regard, when those we love are nigh. 

" Charity covers a multitude of sins," 
This the teaching our dear Saviour brings ; 
How oft does one, kind, look impart. 
Re\-iving hope to the sad sorrowing heart. 
9 



The scornful i^rcctiiii^^ is oit L;ivcn tliosc, 
Who sjck for food .iiul slicltcr and rci)osc ; 
When assailed by the heartless bus)- throni;, 
Oil ! i^lorious theme, for Hards to write upon. 

I^arth's toiling' sons, more often share, 
(Than th(^se with whom the w(M-ld is fair) 
Their mite, with those in adverse fate ; 
Nor lini^er, thinking, till too late. 

Ah I man\' can define the word ; 
Hut still will not of free accord. 
Lend a kind hand to sufferers near ; 
To make its meanin^j^ full and clear. 

Instead, they'll pass the poor in pain. 
Pass them, in hun<^er to remain ; 
Where just a trifle would relieve, 
yXnd fill the wants o'er which thev irricve. 



lO 



TO MY FATHER. 



Dear father, in the shadows long, 
I sit and muse, while memories throng ; 
Of home, and kin, and native clime, 
'Neath skies serene. Oh, happy times 
Were passed in scenes our hearts did thrill, 
Ere life's glad stream grew cold and chill, 
And ripples tide grew more and more, 
On north Atlantic's pine-clad shore ! 

Dear father, 'tis true, it hath been given 
Twice forty years to thee, and seven ; 
Of which full forty years were passed 
In pine-clad depths, thy lot was cast ; 
And now thy loving heart is young 
As when we first together sung, 
And when dear mother's tender eyes 
Shone clear and bright as summer skies. 



Ne'er more will our hearts the echoes thrill 
By merr\' birds 'neath the si)rinL;" wood's hil 
Where \ioIets sweet now rear their heads 
\W the little spriiii; w here the cattle tread. 
And we list for th\' step in the dim old hall, 
Where \'oii ^reet and fondle us children all, 
Who, with selfish care, ha\e left th}' side, 
To miui^ie in the world's cold tide. 

Now the drear}' hours pass slowh' on, 
h^)r no more shall we hear th}' lullab)' soni^ 
That oft hath soothed our cares to rest 
On a fond father's lovini^ breast. 
Far better than riches or <^reat renown — 
F(^r me — a home in the lo<j^ house brown. 
With thee and mother to pass the loni; day, 
And to keep all care (vom th\- li\es awa)'. 



WINTER SUNSET. 



The clear, bright, pure, ethereal sky, 
We can see through softest down, 

And the clouds keep parting as they fly 
With finest rose edeed round. 



't5 



And there, just under the golden hue. 
In the bright back-ground they ride, 

The deepest, darkest, purple blue. 
The carmine tints divide. 

Then where the sun dropped out of sight, 

Is the brightest burnished gold, 
But there, come here, and look to the right. 

Within their fleecy folds. 

The bright and crescent golden moon. 

Is wrapped in delicate rose. 
Ere the night shades come with deepening gloom, 

To envelope a bright days' close. 



APPLE BLOSSOMS 



Spring" lias conic. 

And wild hccs liiini ; 
The trees arc all in bloom ; 

Delicious hours, 

Vov <j^rai)e-vine b(^\vers 
Are filled with sweet perfume. 

Dancini^ so lii^ht, 

Pale blush and white, 
Soft murmurinij^ music floats; 

Are quickl)' shed 

Thy leaves outspread, 
Fair pledge of the bud aw^oke. 

The birds are here ! 

The sk\' is clear, 
And the robin's youni^ birds three 

Are callinij^ aloud, 

From a flossy cloud, 
Dow II low in the Duchess tree. 



1-4 



But off they'll blow, 

And green grass grow. 
O'er the bed where the)^ decay. 

And fruit shall rise 

As to the skies 
The righteous shall, some day. 

SPRING. 

The warm winds are blowing o'er meadow and lea, 
And the flowers from the fruit trees are falling ; 
I am listening so vainly for little brown bee. 
In the lilacs the robins are calling. 
Verbenas are starting the pansies in bloom. 
And the jasmine is nodding so fair. 
The bright peonies' beauty has left us so soon. 
And the sweet apple blooms perfume the air. 



15 



rO MY BROTHERS. 



C\'C 



Sittini; in nu' lonely chamber 

rhinkini; of the past, this ev 
Of the loved ones and the dan<;er, 

In this world where oft we ij^riexe; 
Of ni\' dear, and L,^entle brothers, 

Sleeping- there so lone and still. 
In the church-yard by the river, 

Does my heart with sadness fill. 

Shall wc never, never meet them. 

Those dear ones we loved on earth 
Shall we never, never, see them. 

Gather 'round that dear old hearth 
Shall we no more hear their voices 

Sin^ini^ sweetly, ever clear ; 
Methinks. I hear them now rejoice. 

In that ])r(^mised home s(^ near. 



i6 



THE STORY OF THE BUTTONS. 



Only a card of buttons ; 

Yet much have we to tell, 
Of life and its enjoyment, 

Its miseries as well. 
And if you'll stop and listen, 

Unto our simple tale : 
We'll try and interest you, 

And hope we shall avail. 

There were eight dozen of us. 

On a neat shining card. 
And many others were with us, 

But we seemed placed for guard, 
For the others were all covered, 

While we were in plain sight, 

There, in the tidy show-case. 
So plain and pearly white. 



W'c (lid not sta\- there Ioiil; tli<»', 

l\)V to the store tliere came 
A tall ami handsome gentleman — 

We'll mention not his name : 
He was s(3 pleasant lookin*^, 

Good natured, and jolly too, 
That we cared not even a little. 

When we came into his view. 

He said to the i^ood store-keeper, 

Can you do up some <^oods for me ? 
Some suL^ar and saleratus. 

And a pound of }^our best tea : 
Some calico and L^ini^ham. 

And white factor)' I'll take, too, 
A little thread, and then our faces, 

Came sliininj/ to his \iew. 



iS 



I want some buttons, too, he saia. 

I nearly them forgot, 
I saw some, in the show case here, 

A real nice looking- lot, 
I'll take the whole card, never mind, 

You need not get your shears. 
For those not used this summer. 

Will not spoil, in many years. 

So we were taken from our place, 

And soon put out of sight, 
Rolled up with cloth, in paper. 

And tied with twine so tight. 
Then to the wagon they took us, 

We knew it by the sound. 
And soon the wheels w^ere spinning, 

Right noisy o'er the ground. 



( )ur journc)' was sonn fiidccl, 

iXiul wc were taken at last. 
And carried away from the wai^on. 

And into the htnise quite fast. 
F(^r the little ones have heard us, 

And have LJ^ail)' run aloni;; 
Down the path to the <^ate, and 

Arc sini^ini^ a welcome sonp^. 

We were carried in by the children, 

Whose voices were full of glee, 
And were ^i:^lad when we were permitted, 

Their joyous faces to see: 
And now my gentle reader. 

While our story is just begun : 
We'll give you a true description. 

Of the familv one b\' one. 



20 



There was the gentle mother, 

Her face, aglow with pride. 
As she looked on her happy children, 

Two of them on each side : 
How oft recurs to us, the time 

Of those sweetly quiet joys : 
When birds sweet songs in cadencelon, 

Made all our hearts rejoice. 

There was Willie O. the oldest, 

A rather good-natured lad, 
Though he was a trifle noisy, 

We could not consider him bad. 
We'll acknowledge it was his ambition, 

The little ones to annoy. 
By pulling the tail of the kitten. 

Or breaking a fa\'orite toy. 



21 



The next to attract our attention, 

Was Glaclicc. a lovely child. 
She was sure to win tlu- affection, 

()f all, with her wa\'s, so mild. 
We all felt at once that we'd love her. 

As we L^azed in her eyes so blue. 
Fcclinq; sure, that this bright little maiden 

Was honest, and kind, and true. 



There was Leslie, a briij;ht little fellow. 

Whose lii^ht hair in 1(M1i^ curls hun<^, 
lie was alwa)'s tr\'inL^ in some way 

To amuse the you nicest one. 
And Mo)'d. the patient bab\\ 

Would act e\'er well his ]:)art, 
I lis lau<^hint^ e\'es displax'iuL;', 

A ]iap])\', affectionate heart. 



While we were carefully trying, 

Each bright, little face to scan, 
The door opened wide, and before us 

Stood the handsome good-natured man. 
The glad hurrahs from the children. 

The nod from the cheerful wife, 
Were the heartfelt welcomes for " papa," 

Which crjaddened his toilsome life. 



fc.' 



And he, in turn, seemed happy, 
To find himself home once more. 

To amuse himself with the children, 
And fondle them o'er and o'er. 

'Twas amusing to hear the questions, 
That the little ones would ask. 

And for him to find an answer, 

- Seemed but an easv task. 



oil, could he ha\i- known what the hiturc 

Was hoi din 14- in store for him, 
We fear that the liL;"ht of those blue e\'es, 

Would suddenl)' ha\'c L;i-o\vn dim. 
Hut Providence has anan^rcd it. 

That the future to us shall lo(^k blank. 
And for this kindl\' proxision, 

We should our kind Father tharik. 

Well, the new <4;arments soon were finished. 

And we buttons used ])rofuse. 
Which pleased the happ\' children. 

And of us tliey made i^ood use : 
And we, in turn were deli^i^hted, 
Their different pranks to trace. 
To watch their blithe little fiu:ures, 

So full of childish Lrrace. 



34 



But the summer passed ov^er, and winter 

Came on with its storms and wind, 
The joyous spring followed after, 

Old winter's storms to rescind. 
But ere the bright days of summer came, 

Deep sorrow found entrance there. 
For sickness had entered and clung to ane. 

The daughter, the loved, the fair. 

And as she in agony lingered there. 

Watched close by the Angel of Death, 
Oh, who can tell, how the mother felt, 

As she noted each passing breath. 
And the father, with ever a helping hand, 

A kind and a loving word. 
Could scarcely refrain from tears, as his heart 

With sympathy was stirred. 



iUit slic liiiL^crcd on till Ikt iliscasc 

A lii;iitcr torni did take, 
So thc\' from L^ricf and sorrow, 

To iiappincss did awake. 
For tenderly tlie\- ^^uarded her, 

And with nuicli anxious care, 
T]ie\- nursed her back to life a^ain, 

The one they lo\ed so dear. 

To have <Tood health was not her lot, 

And we can truK' say. 
That ever after tliat sad time, 

Slie was not well a day; 
l^ut still slie linL^ered on and bore, 

With patience all her i)ain, 
r^er hopin<;- that she nii^lit 

Once more Li:ood health reijain. 



Winter and summer came and went, 

Still she remained the same, 
And as another fall rolled 'round. 

Their trouble seemed to gain ; 
For sickness had come to their home once more 

And the handsome, good-natured man, 
Was the victim of that dread disease. 

So common throuo-h our land. 



'fc.^ 



Yes, fight and struggle as ye may. 

Against consumption's power. 
Twill take the strong man as the frost 

Destroys the lovely flower ! 
And thus all ages must succumb. 

To its relentless hand ; 
Showing to us the power of His 

Omnipotent command. 



27 



All tlin)iii;li the clrcar\' winter days. 

lie stnii4L;le(l. fierce and liard. 
l^ut he. at last, like man)' more. 

Was doomed hope to discard : 
And as in aL;e)n\- he sank, 

Beneath consumption's blow. 
We'll not fori^et the look lie wore. 

Just four short years ai^o. 

At last the awful hour had come. 

And he must surely die, 
Leaxini^- behind all those he'd lo\ed. 

And watched with careful e\'e, 
To l3attle with this world alone, 

Without a father's care! 
Dependent wholl\- on the strenj^th, 

Of that frail mother, there. 



^S 



And she. Oh, can we e'er find words, 

Her sorrow to portray? 
As she stood beside the dying man, 

On the dawn of that June day; 
With her baby nestling in her arms, 

In all his innocence. 
Who, but a few short weeks before. 

His frail life did commence. 

And now her heart was filled with grief, 

As she stood with lingering gaze. 
On his cold white brows he had found relief. 

From earth's dark sorrowing days. 
For, as he went, life's brighter gleam 

Did surely her forsake ; 
Still she bore with great composure, 

That which did her spirit break. 



29 



The s(^lcni!i rite was n\cr, 

Atul lie was laid to rest. 
And all had returned home ai^ain. 

In sober niournini;' dressed: 
Hut the appearance of that dark attire, 

Her ij^rief could not portray; 
As she returned to widow-hood, 

On that sad funeral da}'. 

The time drac^<^ed wearih* along. 

Hut sickness lin^Tered still ; 
For the youn<;est of that little flock, 

Was suffering- and ill. 
And as the Indian summer came, 

One bright (October da\-, 
They laid beside the father, dear. 

Sweet little Amos Ra\'. 



30 



And thus another sorrow came, 

To this poor, saddened life, 
Which was one constant discontent. 

Mingled with tearful strife. 
But the future held in store for her. 

Another sorrow yet; 
Which, as we now, on it reflect. 

Fills us with sad regret. 

Time passed, yet sorrow lingered still 

How little did we know ! 
Twould be so soon the Father's will, 

For another dear one to go. 
Yes, another of that little band, 

That was the special care. 
Of the lonely mother, and this time, 

'Twould be the daucrhter fair. 



31 



^^•I• slu-. who sccnu'd a woman. 

RatluT than a sini])k- lass, 
W'oiiKl soon be called from this sac! world, 

( )r care and sti'ife to ])ass; 
She, who was her mother's comfort, 

On life would soon release. 
Iler slender hold and rise to where 

There is eternal peace. 

Before another autumn came, 

Her sufferinj^s were o'er, 
And slie liad crossed the rixer deep. 

And L^ained the other shore. 
And thouL;"h we missed her more than these 

Vcw simple words can tell. 
Still we could ne\'er wish her back. 

In miser\' here to dwell. 



So now, dear reader, we have told 

Our simple tale to you. 
Though but a card of buttons, 

We assure you that 'tis true. 
And there's no more that we'd mention, 

Of sorrow here to-day ; 
Thanks for your kind attention, 

Now, fare thee well for aye. 



TO MY MOTHER. 



Dear mother, at the early dawn. 

The earth so cold and fair; 
The rippling brook, and sparrows song, 

Blue sky and summer air; 
Bring back to me, those happy days. 

The merry dance and song, 
Twas to our heart, life's greater part. 



As time flew alon 



33 



Dear mother, at the siiltr>- noon. 

In 111)' cool cedar bower; 
To ha\e tliee here, 'twere sucli a boon, 

I think of those bright hours, 
W'lieii we, toL^ether, used t(^ stroll 

The wildwood's cool retreat; 
The trees and flowers are ^one where rol 

The i^olden fields of wheat. 

Dear mother, when life's storms attend. 

And all in darkness near. 
We turn to thee, thou truest friend ! 

Whoe'er did bless, and cheer; 
None e\-er, on life's troubled sea. 

Can feel such tender care; 
And o'erlook all faults, but thee, 

And every sorrow share. 



34 



For my impatience, theiiei.i had' smiled, 

With many a wish and prayer ; 
When sickness came, and o'er thy child, 

Watched with a constant care 
Oh mother dear, I would ever give ; 

To thee, the grateful deed. 
Wilt thou every selfish act forgive. 

Mine is the earnest need. 



A SAD EXPERIENCE. 



I know an old Irishman, hearty and hale, 

And of him I'll tell you a story: 
He always can tell you a laughable tale. 

Of the deeds he did when in his glory. 

There is one thing he did but a short time ago. 

And the fact unto you I'll relate. 
When I've told you you'll laugh,still well will you know^ 

That he very near met a sad fate. 

35 



lie has OIK' b.'ul habit, this Irishman, ohi, 
Which caused him to lose his old wife; 

And he to me his experience told, 

1^\' which he came near losini;- his life. 

This habit, dear reader, is love for stronc^ drink, 
Which his appetite craves without ceasing ; 

Tho' old age is bringing him near the gra\x^'s brink, 
Still his lo\^e for the wine is increasing. 

'Twas one morning in spring, the mud it was deep. 

Rut what cared old Mickey for that ? 
For the jug in the house had been empty a week, 

And this fact made his heart go pit-pat. 

" Sure, I can't wait much longer," the old fellow said, 

As he took the jug off from the shelf 
" For me shtomic is impty and the pain in me head 

Is enough t(^ craze one like miself" 



36 



I'll be after shtarting to town fur a drink, 
And I'll take me ould jug along too ; 

Fur whin I git home I shall nadc some, I think, 
To shake off me feelings so blue. 

Sure it is mighty lonely to sit here alone, 

Without any woman at all. 
Ah, 'tis me ould jug that gives me the tone. 

To put up with this droll life at all. 

So he, in good spirits, his oxen did yoke, 
And them to the wagon did hitch. 

And while riding along he not a word spoke 
To keep his team out of the ditch. 

For his oxen were gentle, and steady and tame, 
And their duty would do with good grace ; 

But old Mickey in liquor was greatly to blame. 
And for teamster was much out of place. 



37 



At last lie arri\ctl at the (.Ii'iil;")' saloon, 

Aiul oixlered the keeper to fill 
Ill's little hroWii Jul;-, ami then i)rett\' soon 

He was sini^nnij^ i^ay son^s loud and shrill. 

Thus the da\' wore aloni^, and at last it was time 

To be thinkinL;" of starting for home, 
And is th ■ particular part of m\' rh\'me, 

Over w hich the old paddy did foam. 

Well, he started for home with his bottle and ju<^, 

Scarceh' able to sit on his seat, 
His team ran throui^h ditches and over the lo^s, 

As he did them heartlessly beat. 

Yes, he lashed his old oxen which cau.sed them to run 
Over roads that were muddy and rouij^h. 

And he trusted his team as man\- ha\e done, 
Thinkiu!'- the\' knew the road well enoui-h. 



3« 



But the wheel struck a root in the midst of the mud, 
Which did our old friend discommode ; 

It shook him severely, then hearing a thud, 
He found himself down in the road. 

Yes, there in the wheel track his head rested well, 

With water and mud covered o'er, 
Could you hear old Mick that experience tell, 

You'd have thought his old pate had been sore. 

Why, man, ye don't know what a bad time I had. 

Before I got home here last night ; 
To see me ould shanty, you bet I was glad. 

After gittin' in sich a bad plight. 

Ye see, I fell out where the mud v.^as right dape, 
With me head jist in front of the whale, 

Exceptin' me face ; I was kivered complate, 
With wather, and mud and to fale 



39 



1 lie wlialc slowly crapin' on top ot inc head. 
Was enough fur to make mc liair shtancl, 

1 sui\'l\- expected h\' now to he dead. 

Thank the Lord, I am here on dry land. 

Yc see, I \'elled quick to me oxen to shtop. 

And shtoj) they did too in a hurry, 
With the whale on top of me ould head ker whop. 

Which caused me to squirm and to worry. 

So I scrached out ai^in to the toj) of me vice, 
" Git aloni;- there, don't shtop any longer," 

And they shtarted, which made me poor heart rejice, 
Fur 1 couldn't shtand that any longer. 

Now as soon as iver the whale left me head, 

You bet I got out of that quick, 
Ah. truly. I thought I must surely go dead, 

Whv. sir. I could scarceh* kick ! 



40 



Tlic iinid ofTmeself, and it ki\^cred nie o er 

In ivery place ye can think. 
Me hat I had lost and me coat I had tore, 

And fur mud, I me eyes couldn't wink. 

Rut I scrambled back into me vvagin agin, 

Determined this time for to try. 
And racho me ould shanty and then to crawl in, 

To me bed, there, in comfort to lie. 

Fur me ould head was achin, me back it was sore. 
And me knees how they trembled and shook ; 

Besides I was cold fur me breeches I tore, 
And a regular soakin' I took. 

Well, when I got home you jist better believe, 

I made me a good whiskey sling ; 
I built a good fire me chills to relieve, 

But me head would shtill ache, throb and shtine. 



41 



S(» I made inc a biiiikuiii l;()()c1 cup of slitroiv^ tea, 

And while driukin' it all b\' mcsclf, 
T kcj)t thinkin' <n'i;r what 1 used to be. 

And tlien takin' the jui;- off the slielf 

I took a Li^ood drink just thinkin' to sec, 

If it wc^iddn't me sutTcrins 'asc, 
And while drinkin' I thought of old Marimishi, 

Where I spent all me earlier days. 

It was tlierc \'fui could <j;ct (and 'twould do \'ou no 
harm) 

A drink that would do your soul i^ood, 
'Twould cost but a little and you it would charm, 

And ni\cr your timper disturb. 

Yes, i^'we me the whiskey of Marimishi, 

Which is all I here represent; 
Gi\'e me back me ould home and I'll satisfied be, 

And live tliere, and die there, content. 

4-^ 



And as he stood before me bespattered with dirt, 
His gra\' hair with mud matted full, 

His pants, and his coat, and his ragy^ed old shirt, 
All spoke of" that mighty hard pull." 

And I hardly could blame him for wishing to be 
In the home of his young happy days ; 

But I doubted if whiskey from Marimishi 
Would justify him in its praise. 



MEMORIES. 

My native home is far away. 

Could I its shores see. 
And mingle in those childish sports, 

'Twould make my spirits free. 
Could I but visit stream and hill. 

And meadow where we played, 
And bask in sunshine, how^ 'twould thril 

As erst the hills arrayed. 
43 



Dead River washcl ni\- nati\c fami 

With waters swift and dark, 
I Icrc iiK-in'r}- lca\x\s mc naui;hts th' harm. 

It cannot clian^c this heart. 
"Fwas there my youn^^ heart tasted jo}', 

Tliat never visits now, 
Tlie lonely wayside wanderer. 

Nor lightens up this brow. 

Scarcely throe years this heart had known 
And yet kind mem'ry gives, 

The woodland's road so dark and lone, 
Around the pine-clad hills. 

And here and there the drifted snow- 
By wayside fences lay ; 

The earliest home I parted from, 
The twent\'-second of Ma\'. 



44 



Kind mcm'ry still giv^es oft the thought, 
In tones, will ever mov^e: 



The lumbering stage the family brought. 



And brothers, the cattle drove. 
One sister, then, was with us there, 

And since then two's been given, 
Before that day, two sisters they 

Had gone to live in heaven. 

Adieu, my own wild mountain home, 

Thy faded leaf and tree ; 
Its ever}' part to wreck has gone. 

Except wild flowers and lea. 
Dead river's knolly, pebly shore. 

Its waters deep and dark, 
Could I but visit just once more, 

'T would then live in this heart. 



45 



I 'anc\' xoict's tell mc these 

WCrds wliispcrcd from above, 
There is a land where all is ))eace 

And cxerlastinLi; lo\-e. 
They sa\- that there tliis heart will How 

With x'outhful free deliL;-ht. 
And every sorrow here below, 

Be lost in beams of li^ht. 

No tears arise to dim the eyes. 

No haui^hty frowns appear; 
There all are wise; no chani^^in^ skies, 

No winter, cold and drear. 
Good-bye, L^ood-bye, my native home. 

One morn in latest Ma\', 
We wandered in the coach aloni,^ 

Kennebec's w indini;" way. 



46" 



But here is next my home loved best, 

The cottage low and red, 
The spring that flows beneath the hill, 

Its banks with flowers arrayed. ' 
And kindly visions new and bright, 

Just lend my childhood's joys. 
Those days that gleaming ever bright. 

Soon flew without alloy. 

The red rose tree, my flower bed, 

The blue-topped distant hill, 
The roaring dam that wildly ran, 

The bridge and noisy mill. 
The raspberry wood, the elm that stood 

Near the ledgy old side hill. 
The little wren we frightened then. 

To stay his noksy trill. 



47 



The «»1(1 wood clock ai^Minst tlic wall, 

That struck tlii- hours so slow; 
It ivachcd to the ceilini^ 'twas so tall, 

And stood Iohl;" \'ears a^^o. 
In the dear old kitchen corner, dim, 

Between tlie bed-room door 
And the six-lei,^^ii^ed table, where we sin^ 

In mem'r\' as of yore. 

A cheerful blaze in the old fire-place, 

'Neath a mantle \oni^ and broad. 
The bii,^ arm-chair, we children there 

To enjoy a little n(^d 
With a quiet zeal would often steal, 

With no one by to see. 
In the evenin<,r hour, ah! mem'ry's power. 

It so enchanteth me. 



48 



The cast square room had a deep gloom, 

The panneled blinds were drawn, 
Those merry games in this heart remain, 

With welling interest warm. 
The old house quaint with its red paint, 

The stile where roses twine. 
The gleaming gold of the lillies fold. 

As by the walk they shine. 

What magic power had the evening hour. 

Though stilled our childish glee, 
Dear mother told those stories old, 

While we gathered 'round her knee. 
In life's bright dawn as they flew along, 

Those days of brightest dreams, 
'Twere a better thought to have nearer sought. 

To awoke to real scenes. 



49 



/\li, ni.niV)-, w hat tianciiiL; i)<>\\cr, 

Tlv pine tree at the i^atc, 
M\' father placed in happ\ lioiir. 

It (lid lis s«~» elate. 
Its dark i^reen hue in the sun we'd view, 

And praise it o'er and o'er, 
So unlike the spruce and cedar's hue, 

That c^rew before the door. 

Our morning life passed by so lii^ht, 

As we would dream and sin<^; 
We used to play with <^reat delii^ht 

Under the hill by the spring, 
Where the clear rippling- waters floating, 

O'er the rocks with glad refrain. 
There Dan and I sat gloating, 

O'er the \ictories we had ijained. 



50 



For we'd i^uide the ripples to their places, 

Like soldiers, marching go; 
I went for the United States, 

And Dan for Mexico. 
How eager we would watch them come. 

With zealous puzzled look. 
And all the victories we won 

Would make a war book. 

Now youth is gone, not like the stars, 

To visit again and again ; 
And w^hile I am thinking of those wars, 

I live life o'er again. 
Do the flov\'ers still bloom where there we roamed ? 

The sunshine on the hill ? 
The wasted years have steadily flown. 

So swift, and sad, and still. 



Oil the oltl sitk- liili wlurc the shadows still 

In th' half sunn\' days arc ij:oin<^. 
Across the IcdL^^c to the wildwood hed;4e, 

And the men on th' ilat are mowin^^ 
Every cloud that obscures the sun, 

You can sec on the uoland slopes, 
Like billows pass o'er the lon^r ripe crrass, 

To Chaney's woods where it opes. 

Of a summer's eve from the village near, 

With a subdued, fitful flow. 
Came the voices of children to my ear, 

As from the common they'd g;c> ; 
The sunset fades in the twiliij^ht shades, 

Stealinnr o'er the Kmbden hills; 
Where the rosy lii^dit was streamino- bri-ht, 

O'er all the ripplin^^ rills. 



5^ 



l^^ar. tar beyond, is old bluff mount. 

A deep cerulean blue; 
O'er whose bright crest the showers we count, 

The clouds that come to view. 
There's the solitude of the trackless wood, 

Before the hill-tops grand, 
And old Squaw Mount with its white stones gleam, 

In the north we scanned. 

Their soft blue haze, those vanished days, 

To my dreary life will come; 
In sweeter tones than bard portrays, 

Or voice hath ever sung. 
The rare wild birds to-day hath stirred. 



Those scenes so long gone. 



There was Forest Hall, near Wordsworth's, 
Where the dancers throncr- 



53 



Tin- soiiL^s that \\c siin^ so loni;- aL;c>, 

( )ii r\iMiiiii;s hrit;lit with cIkht, 
When \\c sat in the hrchi^lit's fitful l^How, 

With tliosc our licarts hold dear. 
And nicm'r)''s li^^ht is resting upon 

The words that wore spoken low. 
As I sit in the starliL;ht musiuL^ alone, 

ThrcV the sad hours that go. 

Twas there, my young and fickle mind. 

With common lore was filled : 
Where thoui^hts as changini; as the wind, 

M)' childish fancy thrilled : 
Twas there, with oxerflowini^ lieart, 

All meanin<^less and dull ; 
I played a careless wa\-ward part, 

Immortal L^^ms to cull. 



54 



Twas there our brotliers lony^ ago. 



Left us with lonely hearts : 
Little Warren, with eyes so blue, 

W^as the first one to depart ; 
His silken hair, I see it yet, 

As I stood by his 'little bed ; 
And he held his plate, I'll never forget, 

The words he to me said. 

And Lewis fair, across the tide, 

Was borne to realms of day. 
My counselor, no thought beside, 

Than giving joy, always : 
He was ever true, his mild eyes blue 

With love shone clear ; 
'Till life is done, his words will come. 

Our drooping heart to cheer. 



55 



Tlu-\- k'!t «»m- lionii-. our ^iinn\ home. 

Willi kiiulrcd band l<> dwell; 
I^c\'()ii(l the skies, hrii^ht flowers anion^; 

The ones we lo\'etl so well. 
Aiui now, when sprini^time's earliest flowers 

Deck the dear spring- wood's hill, 
It gives me back those merry lionrs, 

That did our voiuil^ hearts thrill. 

Now, thirty years have flown away. 

Since we parted from this home; 
(^nr loni^, lonc; ride by railwa}% 

Was a joLirnex' drear and lone. 
How oft my flijj^ht in chvams of liirlit, 

To m\' low cot home where now 
My fragrant violets blue and w hite, 

H\- tile rip])ling spring do blow. 



5f' 



One snowy day wc came away, 

And little heeded too; 
The stifled word with sorrow stirred, 

And tears not a few, 
Brothers two, and sister Jule, 

We left in that dear nest; 
Where ere on earth, we're doomed to roam, 

We'll love thy hills the best. 

Now\ should I roam, my best-loved home, 

Beneath thy skies so fair, 
I'd find blue hills and trees alone, 

My kindred are not there ; 
No friends remain to me the same, 

As w^hen we hand in hand. 
Together played beneath the shade 

Of the maples grand. 



57 



THEY TELL US GOD IS GOOD, 
riic wild l)irtl.s siiiL; in loxclx' bowers, 

That nestles in the wood, 
And flowers sj:)rinL( forth w itii April showers, 

The\' tell us God is |j;ood. 

Hrii^ht ani^el band with music wa\'e. 

The fallinc^ tear exclude, 
They whisj^er to us every da\'. 

And tell us God is ^ood. 

Wild roses here, bright lillies fair, 

Dance o'er the waters rude; 
S])(^ntaneous flc^urish e\'ery\vhere. 

The}' tell us God is i^ood. 

The briidit wini^ed bird, the l)lushini;- (lower. 

Nor there the soul delude. 
All murmuring music e\er\'where, 

Tell us that (lod is ^■ood. 



vS 



SHADOWS ON THE SNOW 

On hilltop and plain the shadows are tracing, 

A network of veins the boughs interlacing; 
On sumach and thorn the berries are flaming 

Their beauty unshown through winter declaiming- 
With cat-tails and ferns, brown branches are trailing, 

And each way you turn.tho' the east wind is wailing. 
For the painting of plagues, how pretty the showing. 

With snow at their backs such beauty bestowing. 

Thro' stately old oaks the wind is now grieving, 

From mountain awoke and of dead leaves relieving. 
They're like fat men with loose joints, some nodding, 
some wdiirling. 

As they stand on their points, then sail after curling 
Arms and feet up so odd, now skip and now dally, 

Some dancing the clogg, some rest in the valley; 
Brown willo\\ s are bare by the river's blue rim. 

A bird's ne.st hangs there, now the shadows are dim. 
59 



DROP OF DEW 



Radiaiil spark of trcnihlinL,^ I'^^Jit 

Little sil\cr spra\'; 
riu' sj)car of knot L^rass' shiniii;^" hrii^iit 

In L;<irL^c()us array. 
As cliamond biiolu it docs entrance, 

The xarious rays combine, 
Garnet and topaz at a i;iance, 

W'itli \iolets do entwine. 

Yes, there's the ruby's clearest hue, 

And amethyst so g;a.}\ 
And saj)i)liires ever chani^ini^ too, 

Tlic emerald; but stay, 
It all in one brii^ht rainbow seems, 

And by the breezes tossed, 
Like sudden i^leams on life's dark stream, 

Is quickly, stranf^eh' lost. 



60 



INDIAN SUMMER. 

Indian summer's golden days, 

Tho' the leaves are sere and brown. 
The lonely heart now breathes thy praise, 

Blue crested jays scream thy renown, 
Oh ! blest incensed reviving air ; 

Than balmy June's most perfumed flower, 
That lines the walks thou art more fair, 

Indian summer's golden hours. 

Indian summer's golden hours. 

How soft thy breeze o'er smoky hill. 
Bears autumn leaves and wrecks of flowers, 

Ere winter's breath comes cold and chill. 
I love thy tints, thy sweet perfume, 

Thy dimmest ray, thy loudest tone ; 
Thy voiceless morn, thy mellow moon, 

Indian summer's golden day. 



NOVEMBER. 

T went to tlu' niaj^lo woods to-(la\'. 

To say L^ood-byc to tlic l)irds 
Remaining; of suinnicr, to sitvj; mc a law 

Hut the robin was all I heard. 
1 did think, though. I shoidd sec a lark, 

Or hear his sad son^ ; 
But the da\'s will be many and dark, 

Ere he sini^s the way aloni;. 

How radiant the \'ines appear. 

The golden rod bows so low — 
It's next to the darkest month in the year. 

And it's time for the flowers to go; 
l^ut these are sheltered from wind and rain, 

And the sun's bright ra\'s combine 
To warm their hearts; they are arranged 

With the leaves of columbine. 



62 



Brilliant green leaves with scalloped edcre, 

Still thrive on this late day; 
They grow beside the wayside hedge, 

To cheer the traveler's way. 
Rut soon will come the storm's low hum, 

Increasing every hour, 
And when assuaged, his reckless rage. 

There will be no flowers. 



DEAR MOTHER IS GONE. 



Dear mother is gone from this world of care. 
She was borne away by the angels fair. 

To a brighter home where it is ever day, 
And there is no sorrow and no decay. 

And though she hath left us with sorrowing heart, 
Yet soon shall we meet her and never to part. 



63 



Dear niotluT is l^oiic to that hcaxcn of rest, 
She was an ani;cl rriciul of tlic oppressed! 

Her fond lox'iiiL^ heart is freed from all pain, 

Her precepts will lintj^er wliile life sliall remain. 

She w ill wait for our coming" upon that bright sh<^re, 
Where joy and gladness sliall reiq;n exermore. 

Dear mother is i^onc to that beautiful shore, 

To join our dear kindred that's <]^one on before; 

Her lovin^^ hands folded and dim are those eyes, 
No more to awaken 'neath earth's troubled skies. 

No more here to greet us through all life to come. 
Farewell then, dear mother, 'till this life is done. 



TO JULIA ELLEN EASTMAN. 



'Tis thy spring time, loving child, 
Fair and bright and sweetl)' mild ! 

But round th)- path few Howers bloom, 
To gi\'e their fragrance to the noon. 

04 



In early years those it kept as now, 
That look of sageness on thy brow. 

As beam those eyes with loves own light, 
May life's long day be fraught as bright. 

Be wise to seek and read the page 
Of abject woe, thou canst assuage. 

The kindest hearts more often wear, 
A duller brow than smiles declare. 

'Tis thy springtime, trusting child, 
Hours so precious ne'er beguiled ! 

Remember, soon these hours will pass, 
Full many a change come too, alas ! 

But dearest one, when springtime's past. 
And life assumes a different cast. 

May brighter scenes illume thy way. 
And linger till thy latest day. 

6^ 



Still as \-oii toil with cai-iu-st /.cal. 

Across til)' path will siiaclcnvs steal. 
To dim bright hope, \'et patient L^lean, 

The briijhtest tints will come between. 



LITTLE AVIE 



Laui^hinf^ Avie's nut-brown eyes, 



Dancinij^, ^iancinij;. full office 



Oiit\ie the stars that i;em the skies, 
Tw inkle with more brilliancy. 

Constrastin<4- with her pure white brow- 
On cheek and lip are roses. 

Little birdies happ>' now, 

Tliis, her i^a\' lau<^h (Hscloses. 

Sunny Ax'ie's f^^old-brown hair. 

In silken curls while walkini;". 
Shake in clusters, ricli and rare. 

Nor liold the)' still in talkin^r. 
()6 



!)arlini4 bab\', l^'athcr L^Liidc licr. 

In the path\\a\' ever right, 
Thro' Hfe's shadows stay beside her. 

Gently, softly, birdie's flight. 

LITTLE CORA. 



Deep within those bright black eyes, 
Earnest, love and caution lies. 

Dancing, dimpled bab}' fair. 

With wealth of glossy auburn hair. 

She has no doubts with us to share. 
Like a bird without a care. 

Flitting o'er the flower ground way. 
Till the sunlight's latest ray. 

Sweet, the sound of baby's song, 
Flies the time so swift along, 

Happy baby, darling Cora, 

Brightly beam the way before her. 

67 



Life's brii^ht morn will i)ass so soon. 
And nicr^ini;- intt) hii^licst noon, 

Brinij^ brii^ht scenes and shadows too, 
Some ha\'e man\\ some ha\x^ few. 

Father, ma\' her life's loni^ day. 

Beam with brii;"htly shinin<^ ray; 
With wisdom's lore, and love endow, 

Fondly cherished e'er as now. 

TO E . 



Sweet and low the evenin<^ zephyrs. 
Steal o'er fragrant flowers and lea, 

Trembling leaflets softly murmuring, 
Wafts me thoughts dear one of thee ! 

'Tis sunset, summer's sweetest hour. 

The pine warbler's \'oice its sadness keeps, 

And rings through forests, while the dowers 
Droop their bright wings and willing sleep. 
68 



Within thy grove where sweet wild birds, 
[Tath cheered us on with sweetest tone, 

Our vows of constancy they heard, 
Still, ah ! how sad we walk alone. 

We dwell apart in scenes afar. 
Nor do w^e wTite. tho' oft we sigh 

For peaceful days no thought did mar. 
That sunny land's beyond the sky 

Methinks! where we were going to dwell 
And happy be free from all care ; 

But He, who doeth all things well. 
Will give to each our rightful share. 



FOUNTAIN LAKE 



Halcyon Lake, oh, silent tide. 

On thy placid bosom, cool and fair; 

The morn has just peeped out and sighed, 
While we merrily row in the summer air. 
69 



VVc reach ra^vr hands tor tlu- dainh' stem. 
Of the sweet wliite llowers by the \\a\-; 

l^iit the pond h'ly, dearest L^cm, 

Isn't here; there's the boL,^ wliere black-birds 
stay. 

As we swiftU' ride tlie shiners i^lide, 
From under our boat with a sauc\' air; 

O'er deep masses of <^olden moss we ride, 
As we merrily row in the morning- air. 

Rose tinted morn with freshness borne. 

Thro' nature's perfumed way. 
Green mos.s}' rc^cks in tan^i^led co]:)se. 

The beautiful lake shines bright to-day. 

We row and L;liLle o'ei' the siK'ry tide, 

And the clouds reflected down ; 
Glimmer and fade 'neath sun and shade, 

The LTull's voice loneU' sounds. 



Recalling scenes 1 would forget. 

As down by the sea in the sweet moonlight 
Twas in the old cot where we met. 

And parted too, with care so light. 



JUNE THOUGHTS. 



'Tis the balmy month 

Of rosy June, 
The fragrant air the heart revives. 

The lilac blooms 

Are gone so soon. 
And flowering plants begin to thrive. 

Pink eyes laugh. 

In the garden path, 
Why could I not live with them a day? 

To brighten the hours 

Mid pretty flowers 
And see the insects 'round them play. 



To hear llic din. 

( )!' tlu-ir till)- wiiiL^s, 
This rach'ant morn; the f^listcnin;4 dew 

SpanL^ies the leaves 

Of .sj)rini;s trees, 
The peonies just sliowinL; their tenderest luie. 

The sparrows come, 

The trees amoni.:^. 
Tlieir chattering;- tales to tell. 

Robin red breast, 

Makini^ a nest, 
Blue and gold violets sprinkle the dell. 



The (golden lark. 



1 lath a niaL;ic art. 
To entrance with his sad soni^. 

Little brown wren 

Is here again. 
To DlaLme all the swallow thronL^ 



BUTTERFLIES 

Butterflies, why follow me? 

Pretty win^^-ed flowers, 
O'er ]3lain and lea 

Afl:er the summer showers. 

Tell me, tell me true. 
Butterfly, pearly white, 

How oft I and }'ou 
Have met since light. 

Art thou precursor of joy ? 

Follow me then the while. 
Thou dearest beautiful toy ! 

And all the sad day beguile. 

While I sit me down to rest. 

Beneath this shady tree, 
I can but think with what zest. 

Thou hast followed me. 



7.3 



W'liatt'WT ()l)jv;ct I do piirsiK'. 

riio' far away it l)c, 
M\' r()()tstc|)s sliall be true, 

As \'(uit-s all (la\- to mc. 

Go()(.l-b)'c. then tin\- ones, 
Frail flowers blue aiul white 

Slow sinks the settin;^" sun, 
To lea\'e the pale starlight. 

MAY DAY REVERIES. 



lUittercups and daisies, 
Prett\- wildwood flowers, 

Look the Father's ])raises, 

Thro' the sprin^^'s bright hours. 

Adder tonL:^ues and bird flowers, 

The lil\- and the pink, 
Wake the first Ma\- hours. 

In the meadow where the\- drink, 

74 



This dear May morn L;i\'cs to me thoui^hb 

Of many Mays "one b}' ; 
And many joys the hours brought, 



Ere this heart knew sorrow's sigh. 



FATHER 

Our dear father is gone, his sufferings are o'er, 

His loved voice at home will be heard never more. 

Such patient endurance through all the long years, 
Gives blessed assurance, we see through our tears, 

Of a bright home abo\-e. where, free from all pain. 
He has joined our dear mother and kindred again. 

Never more shall we meet 'neath the sun's glatl light, 
For his spirit from earth has taken its flight, 

To that loved home abo\-e, where brighter shall beam 
Its glittering beauties than picture or dream ; 

There li\'es his glad spirit where no sorrows throng. 
Where kindred souls met him with welcoming song. 

75 



SUNSHINE 

Sunshine tor nic, oh! L^lad and (vcv. 

When the snow-drifts art- coxcrcd witli stars. 

It makes tlic world bright. 
It makes m\' heart h't;ht. 

And ne\er ni)- peace of mind mars. 

I want the blinds open, 

For 'tis the L;lad token, 
Emblematic of wisdom and lox^e ! 

It is to my heart, 
Life's L^i-cater part. 

Why should we hide then, it's sent from abo\'e. 

It dri\es away care, 

And makes li^ht as air, 
Life's dark obligation to me : 

Showers of siK'er. 
O'er the blue ri\er. 

I'jiibroitler)', most excjuisite, see? 

76 



THE THREE WISHES 



I've a story to tell you as the wild winds rusii, 
Concerning a very large kettle of mush ; 

'Twas told unto me by an old gray-haired man, 
And I'll relate it to you as exact as I can : 

There was an old couple far advanced in years, 

Were sharing each others joys, comforts and fears ; 

All alone, by themselves, in an old-fashioned hut. 
And of all fun and ridicule they seemed the butt. 

They were poor, please remember, and couldn't wear 
silk, 

And their average diet was corn mush and milk. 
And the mush was quite scarce, for I told you before, 

That poverty always stood close to their door. 

As it happened, there came to them one sunny day, 

A beautiful fairy in gorgeous array, 
Who told them, three wishes to them she would grant, 

Which caused the old couple to merrily chant. 

77 



W'cll.k)!" what shall wc wisii, saitl the hajjin- old daiiic. 

Ynu mention the first one, then ni\' wisli I'll name. 
To which he rei)liecl in the best of^ood nature. 

Let us wish for plent)' of mush in the future. 

The W(^r(ls had n(^t liardl)- escaped from his lips. 
When the fair)' made mox'ements w ith her fini^er 
tips, 
And in musical tones they couldn't understand. 
Uttered words which to them seemed a pleasant 
command. 

When lo ! the door opened, and strai^lit to the stove, 
Went a kettle of mush ; the old man said 1\\' Jove! 

But the old dame in an^er, her rat^e did disclose. 
B\- wishing- the mush kettle huni; to his nose. 

The fair\- once more raised her beautifiil hand. 

And wa\ed hii^h abo\e her the maL;ical wand, 

And there, to their horror, the i;reat kettle rose, 

And huni;- itself fast to the end of his nose. 
7S 



Now, this silly old couple were much horrified, 

And stood with their eyes and their mouths opened 
wide ; 
Each one had forgotten the one promise left. 

Surely you would have thought them of reason be- 
reft. 

Oh now, my old woman, said he, rather blue, 
See what awful trouble you've got me into ! 

I see, replied she, with a sob and a cough, 
I heartily wish that the kettle was off! 

Once more the bright fairy with words of comma-id, 
Waved above her the beautiful magical wand, 

When lo! the great kettle fell down to the floor. 
Thus making the old couple happy once more. 

Then she bade them good-bye and went off with a 
rush. 
While they looked at each other and then at the 
mush. 
And the lesson they learned on that bright sunny day. 
They will always remember, I'll venture to say. 
79 



PICTURbD BtACHLS. 



\\\: went ridini^^ thro' the wood, 

Where none but passers e'er intrude 
Such beaut}' in the beachen shade, 

Pictures on the bark is hiid. 
Forest, ri\'er, ocean's foam. 

Loft}' hills and risini^ moon. 
Shed reful^^ence, far and near, 

Cathedral, spire, and dome are here. 

'Round castled walls are velvet lawns. 

Winding rivers, deer and faw ns. 
The)' stand immured from si^ht, 

On this lox'eh' winter nii^ht. 
Nature's pictures of the wood, 

Rui^<.^ed hills in solitude, 
Statues of the olden time, 

With the trees and flowers combine. 



So 



Hills were there that seemed all stone, 

O'erspread with moss, with radiance shont^ 
A blue elysian haze, girt round, 

There's finest flowers drooping down, 
And frescoed paintings all ablaze; 

And walks of many winding ways. 
To reach the towns that seemed to be 

Built far into the jasper sea. 

There's silver lakes and summer skies, 

And huge faces looking wise. 
Where plaques of scenery 'lluminate. 

And lovers talking at the gate. 
Were strictU^ of the German type. 

The sire, with a lengthy pipe, 
At a lattice does recline. 

O'er which the climbincr roses tvN'ine. 



ocroBER. 

1 l()\-c t(^ sit at (lawn of cla\', 

And hear the rustic of the leax'es ; 

Their fragrance soon will pass a\\a\-. 
And colors sweet, droj) from the trees. 

How clear, this brit^lit October morn, 
The frai^rant alsike sprin<^in<^ i^reen. 

And \ine wreathed fields of i^olden corn, 
The sun now gilds witli <;olden sheen. 

Tlie pale <^reen willows (graceful bow, 
Aloni^ the meadows, russet brcnvn ; 

\\1ien scarlet i\y on the bouij^h. 

Shines brilliantl\' will soon be cj^one. 

Bright tinted sky and mountains bland. 

The lofty beach in rocky grcne ; 
Grou])ing of leax'cs like hilltops grand, 

Such scenes of all the most I love. 



^2 



Shadows l()n<^ o'er the stubble field, 
Creep slowly o'er the mossy mound>, 

Where sober sheep the sweetness feed, 
Their tinklini^ bells with music sound. 

The far-off tops of hills so blue. 
And nearer trees, a golden line, 

Just paints a halo 'round the scene. 
And makes a picture sublime. 

And yet we know, so soon will go. 

The brightest leaf, the tinted hues ; 
Where blooms the flower, the drifted snow. 

For us will make the dreary views. 



FAREWELL TO SEPTEMBER, 



I breathe a sad farewell. 

As I gaze on woody dell, 
Fanned by the lovliest breeze, September 

And on our parting yet. 

Will think with regret. 
And all thy beauty I shall e'er remember, 

83 



I brcatlu- ;i sad larfwcll. 

M)' sorrow ne'er can t<'II, 
As T pen tliese lines to thee, Sej^tember; 

And the shad\' old oak trees, 

Fanned too, by th)- mild breeze, 
Will miss thee \\hen thcni art i;"one, September. 

I breathe a sad farewell, 

B\' this shad)' nook to dwell. 
Till thou \isit me aj^ain, September : 

I'll gaze in fond deli<^ht, 

On thy beauties now in sii^dit, 
As o'er the fields I roam, September. 

The forest every shade 

Of red tlu' hand has made, 
No other month is half so bright, Sej^tember : 

So now I'll sa)' farewell. 

Nor longer with thee dwell, 
lUit I'll wait for thee at I^adger. Se{)tember. 
84 



I AM THIRTY-ONE TO-DAY, 



I watch and wait as the hours go, 

For the sweetest boon that heaven can give 
Or mortals can ever know. 

The dearest gem, I would ask to live, 
And learn to watch and pray. 

And feel my Father ever near. 
To guide me day by day, 

And know that He will e'er forgive. 
My actions, selfish and blind; 

I would live, and love, and stay, 
With those that's true and kind — 

I am thirty-one to-day. 

I do not weep for those years that's gone. 
Nor for those that will not stay ; 

Soon, ah ! soon Til go to my home, 
I think of it day by day. 

I think of the hours I used to deem, 

85 



( )n the ilistaiU casti^'in slioif ; 
Hcautiful thiiii^s I saw in my dream, 

In the cU'sian days of yore. 
I was happy in my childhood's days, 

When we roamed thro' forests wild ; 
To pluck wild flowers and sin<.^ those lays — 

I am thirt}'-(^ne to-day. 

Constancy, thro' all the lonely years 

Of my life has been my theme; 
Oh ! could I have lived without the tears, 

This existence is but a sad dream. 
A dream — how lonely it sounds! 

As my anguished face portends ; 
There's a far-off land where all resounds. 

With love and happiness blends; 
How often I wonder what is to be 

On the shore far away, 
I dwell on the pain this i^jxcth me — 

T am thirty-one to-day. 
86 



CLEORA. 

Floweret sweet, 
My darling fair, 
With rounded cheek, 
And sunny hair ; 
Rose bud mouth, 
And mild blue eye. 
Color of the azure sky. 

You speak to her. 
And quick her eyes 
Raise to yours 
In glad surprise: 
While her dimpled 



Fingers close. 



Now she trembles, 
How she crows. 



87 



The xiolcts sweet, 
Will come and i^jo, 
And the earth, 
Be white with snow 
Ere the patter 
Of her feet. 
Will mingle with 
Her accents sweet. 

Then will sister 
Gently lead her, 
Thro' the garden 
To the meadow. 
Baby darling ! 
Precious pearl ! 
What two happy 



Little girls. 



88 



Here they stand, 
And with delight, 
Give wee hands 
For daisies bright. 
Herd's grass, clover, 
Tall and wide, 
Bending over, 
Babies hide. 

Look, they come 
Thro' singing wheat ; 
Tired the one 
With faltering feet. 
Down she falls 
With earnest touch ; 
While Cora calls, 
Did it hurt you much? 

89 



1 Icr face now shows, 
No trace of tears, 
'Cept round her nose, 
A streak appears, 
Mamma who sees 
Them near the door, 
Did quickly flee 
An hour before. 

She called, and ran. 
But all in vain; 
Her face then w^ore, 
A look of pain : 
Tis thus in life, 
Tho' wide awake, 
For pelf the strife 
The wroncr ways take. 



90 



LONG AGO. 

I am listeniiiL^ now to the gentle rain, 

Thinking of long ago. 
When we roamed through hay-fields in Maine, 

To see the workmen mow. 
They raked the windrows, long and straight, 

Where brother Dan and I 
Played hide and seek at night so late, 

With the cunning fire-fly. 

We used to watch the swallows come home, 

And plague them as they'd pass ; 
And dive at us before they'd flown, 

To gather worms and grass. 
Then did the gladsome sunset glow, 

Creep on the old porch floor ; 
And little sparrows flit to and fro — 

I can hear them now as yore. 



91 



Those scenes wmishetl ([iiieth' <»ne l)\' one. 

\'et nienioi)- e\er tluells, 
When bri^litest scenes in life hath flown, 

Too soon, this lieart doth tell. 



POND LILLIES 

The purest white lillics afloat on the pond, 

When zephyrs breathe softly and low; 
Gold-hearted beauties with wide leaves in bond, 

Reflect in the beauteous glow, 
Of the sweet peaceful waters, cerulean blue, 

That caress them with shimmerini^ tide, 
And c,nve downy willows their tenderest hue. 

And the violets, they are striving to hide. 
They are bending their perfumed censers sweet, 

Beautiful lillies in mirrored skies! 
With emerald, the hills and the valleys complete. 

As the silvery tints from the cloudlet dies. 

92 



FALLING LEAVES 

I'^alling leaves 

Much do please, 
Cardinal, orange, cappah brown ; 

Velvet purple, 

Gold and pink. 
How they shower their beauty down. 

Rosy yellow, 

Green and drab, 
Richest autumn wreaths, I think, 

Of the choosing. 

May be had. 
By the sparkhng river's brink. 

Falling leav^es. 
Often weaves. 
Maroon and crimson tender hues ; 
Chining emerald, 
Even cleaves. 



To the bough o'erlade with dew 



93 



I'.iIliiiL; K-axrs 

In the brcc/.c, 
Prticlaini the bleak wild winds : 

And the icicles 

On the eaves, 
And the dark December dim. 

Fallinc^ Icav^cs, 

Loft}^ trees, 
Windini^ stream thro' shine and shade 

Edd\Mn<^-, purlin^-, 

Plashini;", whirling;", 
Here and tliere a small cascaed. 

While the trees. 

Drop their leaves, 
And '^"iL^" their spra\s ofxeKi't down ; 

Softl}- ride, 

With the tide. 
Golden <j^reen and brown. 
94 



From i;reen to brown, 

So soon they change. 
Strewn o'er the earth in many shades 

Tender, loving, 

Cold and strange. 
All soon to fall and fade. 



MAY DAY. 

The first of May, 
Was a lovely day, 
The birds they sang. 
Their same sweet lay, 
As they did before, 
In the days of yore. 
When we girls and boys, 
Without alloy, 
All teaming with joy. 
Went Maying that day 

95 



I M h;i\<' a l<»nL; slay. 
By the old side hill. 
Our baskets to fill. 
With tile sparklin;^' flower: 
Tliat ij^row in tlie bowers, 
That nature lias made, 
In the perfumed shade, 
'Neath tlie maple trees. 
That wave in the breeze. 
How free from all care, 
Were we that there, 
Weave flowers and leaves, 
Dear mates to please, 
Then would we repair. 
To the {greenwood fair ; 
To pledi^e \vhile there. 
To fori^et. no ne\er, 
How soon we'd se\er. 
No more to roam, 

96 



In our cliiUlhoud's home, 
Bn'olit May day hours. 
With their pretty flowers, 
We plucked with pleasure, 
To deem at leisure. 
When far away, 
Some lonely day, 
The first of May. 



WE SHALL LIVE BEYOND THE RIVER. 



When the day is new with hope, 

And the sun's rays on the hill. 
Kiss the flowers their eyes to ope. 

By the bank of rippling rill, 
Like the murmur of the bee, 

Now advancing, now receding. 
Comes a far-ofi" voice to me. 

Voice of mortals far exceeding. 
Don't deny it to me ever, 

We shall live beyond the river. 

97 



With suniincr llowcrs tlic earth is ^h'ltl, 

W'nodland. nook and ])lain. 
\\'h\' shoukl til is \\a\'\\ar(l heart be sad, 

When birds sin;^" wild refrain; 
With hearts that's free, tliev toil and sin^, 

\n sunshine, L,dade or rain. 
The sprini^'s cold breeze or palest beam, 

Their wild sweet notes detain; 
Don't den\' it to me e\er, 

We shall li\-e beyond the ri\'er. 

In the earl)- hour of e\en, 

Wlien all nature sinks to rest, 

And the pale stars in the heaxens, 
And the faint rose tints the west; 

All m\' past life, shade and sunshine, 
I'^ills at once m\- loneh' heart. 



98 



Tells nic with low cadcnct,- sometimes, 
We shall live and never part, 

Mid the flowers we'll live forever, 
We shall live beyond the river. 

SISTER COME AND SIT WITH ME 



Sister come and sit with me ! 

In thy wild, extactic glee, 
For the sunshine makes me glad, 

Yesterday e'en the snow looked sad, 
Piled along the fence a row. 

Oh ! the crystals glisten so. 
And to-day it gives me joy. 

For I can sing without alloy, 
In the sunshine let me be ; 

Sister come and sit with me. 

Sister come and sit with me, 
As of yore, from care free ; 

99 



Never iniiul \()ur luss aiul potlici-. 

( )nl\ do not Ka\<' <l»'ai' niothn . 
Any thi 1114 that's hard to do, 

As you'd have others, so do you ! 
Then write to me without delay. 

And tell to me the hour and da\', 
We'll meet you, can you be 

This dav week to sit with me? 



THE BIRTHDAY CHAT 



Prett)' Kate Witherel started (^le da\', 
With her golden-haired sister Sue, 

For the house of a neii^hbor a tew hours to stay 
And visit with Mary and Lew. 



CX) 



The\' were gay and light-hjarted, these maidens four, 

As the sweet flowers laden with dew! 
They had known one another ten years and more, 

And they seemed Hke sisters true. 

Now, this was the birthday of May and Le^^^ 

To-day they were sweet sixteen; 
And they had invited these dear friends, two. 

To dine with them on the ^reen. 

So in hi^h spirits they started out, 

And as the day was fair, 
They joined their friends, then rode about, 

Enjoying the summer air. 

They stopped by the wayside to gather flowers. 

Then sat down by the stream, 
That wound its way through the w^oody bowers, 

With many a pretty gleam. 

lOI 



And \\()\(' a briL^lU w rciitli of ilowcrs. choice; 

.And u ilh nian\- a th()UL;htlcss word 
'Vhcy talked oftlic future, wliile ])atient Royce, 

Tlieir plans for the future heard. 

" Come i;irls, let u.s talk of the future awhile! " 

Said dear little brown-eyed Sue. 
" And Kate, you're the oldest," she said with a smile, 

" Pra\', what are you ^oin<]^ to do ? 

" I shall marry a farmer," said bonn\' Kate, 
'* Gi\'e me the countr\'. fair! 
For style and city life I hate — 
I lov^e the sweet countr\' air. 

" Yes, tlie life of a farmer is best of all, 

Th ' most indepentlent and free: 
So I'll marr\' a farmer, so handsome and tall, 

And 1. his deli-ht shall be. 

I02 



" If there is a profession that I detest, 

'Tis a doctor with ways so wise. 
I never would niarry one of the set, 

For all of them I despise." 

Then May opened wide her eyes so blue, 
" Why, Katie, how can you say that ? 

A perfect gentleman, kind and true. 
Is our jolly old Doctor Pratt. 

" To me he seems next to my father, dear, 

And if ever I marry at all, 
I'll marry a doctor and never fear 

I'll have the best man of all. 

" But I'd not have a lawyer, whose foppish ways 
Seem more hateful than all to me, 

They'er dishonor itself, and one of these days, 
The truth of my words you will see." 

103 



" Now. Lulu," aid Kate, " let us hear what \<)u tliiuk 

(X'xour lif.' in the :"utur.\ to-day; 
\'our husband, of course, must be some ^rand kini^'. 

Attired in the fin -st a!Ta\'. ' 

" (^li, no! I care not wliat his calHni^' ma\' be; 

If he is a gentleman, true-! 
He must be \'ounL;- and handsome, and love only me, 

And must ha\e lots of money too." 

*' As )'ou have all told what \'our chc^ice shall be, 

M\' opinion, sa\^s Sue, I will tell : 
To be an old maid independent and free. 

Is what I call enj()yin<4" life well." 

Their chat now was ended, their work was complete. 

And the twin sisters. Lulu and May, 
Kach wore a bri<;"ht wreath (-)f forq;et-me-nots sweet. 

In honor of this their birthday. 

104 



Now Roycc brought the horses and all in i^reat haste 
Started out for their home in hi^h Gflee ; 

Complaining of hunger, no time did they waste, 
And their welcome was pleasant to see. 

On the lawn was the table prepared with great care ; 

(For the mother had planned a surprise,) 
And now it was covered with luxuries rare, 

And before their wondering eyes 

Was a crowd of young people who ran them to greet, 

Each chiding them for their delay ; 
Two hours we've waited for you to complete 

The honors of this, your birthday. 

Soon the dinner was eaten, much said in its praise, 
And the party dispersed in good time. 

It surely had been one of life's happy days. 
Well worthy my mention in rhyme. 

;K ;;< t- * ^c ^ * 

lo; 



It is Uvv \-cars ai^o, all rcnicinhcM- it well, 

How swiftly the \'cars ha\c i^onc by! 
Now thc\- all ha\c a talc of c.\i)ciicncc to tell, 

Sonic call for a tear and a si^h. 

Here ai^ain are the friends of Ma\' and Lew, 

To witness their niarriat^c as th' weddini;' bells rini;. 

No prettier brides could be found than these two, 
Each resembling" the beauties of spring. 

And now. m\' dear reader, do you recollect 

The chat b)- the brookside that day? 
If you do. \'(^u surely can nexer expect 

Them to walk in the pro|)hesyed way. 

Ah. no! I can see by the glance of your eye. 
That you know young girls better than that. 

There is something on which \'ou can ne\er rel\'. 
In a girl's confidential chat. 
1 06 



Let us stop a few minutes and take just one peep, 

At the merry ones gathering there ; 
To tliem tlie long hill oflife don't seem steep, 

But quite easy to climb, I declare. 

Now all are in order for the rites to proceed. 
Let us note every one where they stand : 

To describe them to you I am sure there's no need, 
For all words of praise would command. 

The first one we notice is Mamie so sweet, 
In her fine satin robes of pure white; 

She looks like a queen from her head to her feet, 
Not a lovlier one there to-night. 

And who is the gentleman there by her side ? 

Oh, I see; it is young Lawyer Gray! 
A more beautiful one he could not call his bride. 

But where is your doctor, Miss May? 
107 



And tlicrc is Miss Lulu, whosr wliitc bridal wreath. 

Well becomes the )'(>iin!4' lad\' so fair; 
B\- her side stands the noble youni,^ Pliilander I leath. 

Much respected and a millionaire. 

There is a lad\-, now pra\', who is she? 

See tlieir card, Dr. Alton and wife. 
I am sin'e that I've seen her; ah, yes, now I see ! 

'Tis our bonny Kate's face full of glee. 

In all of her stylish array I declare, 

I scarcely would recoi^nize her. 
Her face matches well with lier jewels so rare, 

Now to fi\-e }'ears ago we'll refer: 

She would marry a farmer so hands-)me and tall. 

Never live in the city, would she. 
Rut she married a doctor, both homel\' and small, 

.\nd lives in the city of C. 

1 08 



And here's a fair bride's-maid, the sweet little Sue, 

She really looks childish and small ; 
With her lon^^ "golden curls and her eyes of pure blue, 

We prefer her to Katie so tall. 

And now, little Susie, do you still believe 
That to be an old maid is your choice? 

Ah ! you need not deny it, you cannot deceive, 
Your eyes answer plainer than voice. 

Yes, when Christmas shall come it shall find her a 
bride. 

And her lover, young handsome Burt Lee, 
Will consider himself very w^ell satisfied. 

And he could not well otherwise be. 



MARCH. 
Old March is here with us again. 
And all are shivering ; even the men 
Complain of the wind so sharp and chill : 

As it comes to greet us from yonder hill. 

109 



Hut thj siiii shines bright .iibl tlic sk\- is clear. 
And as March must \isit us once a }'ear, 
\Vc gladly welcome it. for we know 
That it helps to lessen the drifts (»f snow. 
There are patches now of bare i^round to be seen, 
And now and then biuiches of ^rass that are i^recn, 
And we earnestlx' listen eacli sunn\' morn, 
P^or the noisy crow which we hear at dawn. 
Yes, winter is passing- with smiles so arch. 
And now we have windy and chilly March. 
But despite the w inds that are loud and drear. 
The l)eauties of sprini^' now bei^in to appear; 
And soon we'll enjo}- the season L^ax', 
With its beautiful flower\' month of Ma}' : 
So blow old March, while \'our powers last, 
Soon April and Ma)- w ill your idory blast. 



1 lO 



OH WHAT IS THE USE OF REPINING. 



Oh what is the use of repining, 

F'or what we know ne\'er can be : 
It only sets old age to twining, 

Itself prematureh' 'round thee. 
It only makes sadness where brightness 

Might just as well sit on the throne ; 
If we'd only meet care with a lightness 

Of heart, in the place of a moan. 

Some say, I presume, that this fair day, 

Will end with a dark afternoon ; 
And, of course, you can see that in this way 

They are looking for trouble too soon. 
Better wait till the clouds are appearing, 

There's time enough then to look sad. 
Keep a lookout, and when it is clearing, 

You are then first of all to seem elad. 



1 I 



1 h n a^aiii, there arc some tliat will tell x'oii, 

When \()ii ask in regard to tlieir liealth ; 
Oh, I ihank ynu, I ani fcelinL;- cjuite well, hut 

1 tear it won't last, for as wealtli 
Slips thro' the hands of the careless, 

And some from an eminence fall. 
It is thus that i^ood health with a rareness, 

Visits me in ni)- i^rand palace hall. 

Now I ask )'(Hi in all that is worthy. 

Of an uprij^lit and honest reply : 
\\'h\- not wait till the ciian«^es come o'er thee, 

Before \'ou sit down with a si^h ? 
Here's a very <^ood rule if you lieed it : 

Never borrow a trouble, but wait 
Till it comes, 'twill be here ere vou need it. 

Don't meet it half-way to the s^ate. 



I 12 



1 think that the wisest of mortals, 

Are those who are not apt to fret. 
Taking thin<^s as they come without stopping 

To think of the past and re;^-ret. 
If our past has been nothing but sorrow, 

Tis no sio-n that our future will be, 
For perhaps ere the sun rise to-morrow, 

Our hearts will from care be set free. 



AUTUMN'S CHANGES. 

One by one the leaves have fallen. 

From their homes among the trees, 
Leaving only naked branches. 

Trembling sadly in the breeze. 
It seems but a few short weeks since 

All the w^oods were bright and gay, 
Filled with many feathered warblers, 

Singing praises day by day. 

113 



1^'irst caiiK- frosts, and then tin- colors 

Of the lca\'cs ^rcw stran<;cl\' l3riL;ht; 
And tlic woods were fairh' hn'cly, 

Charniini;- all. as well thc\' mij^ht. 
Now. alas ! wliat clianj^cs followed. 

DurinL^ tliat short interval ? 
Birds ha\'e flcnvn, and leaves have fallen, 

Making all seem strangeK' dull. 

And now, we, in silence ponder, 

On the changes of the year. 
Is it strange that we should wonder 

What to us will next appear ? 
]-5ut let come what will, we only 

Know that we must bear our part ; 
So we'll say good-bye to autumn. 

With a sad and loneh' heart. 

114 



AUTUMN REVERIES 

I am sitting by the window, 

Looking out this pleasant day. 
At the brightl}' covered branches, 

On the trees across the way. 
Branches that are thickly covered 

With bright leaves of many hues ; 
As now in the morning sunshine. 

They are sparkling with the dews. 

Long ago the spring-time left us, 

Summer too has passed away ; 
Now we have the lovely autumn, 

Robed in colors rich and gay. 
After all, we know its beauties 

Only precedes winter's chill ; 
And we oft neglect our duties, 

Thinking of the coming ill. 



1 1 



\'rs, lU'xt comes tlic storms ot winter. 

And \\c tlread tlicm, we'll wc ma\- ; 
TIkmi we'll sit and sadl\- wondei-. 

At the changes o'er the way. 
Lovel\' spring-time, flower huhn, 

We, to children can com])are. 
With their hearts so free from trouble, 

Unac(]uainted \'et with care. 

But too soon the sprin<j;-timc j)asses, 

And tlij summer i;iides aloni^; 
Then the little cares and troubles. 

Take the time sprinij^ i^ave to son<^. 
And as autumn sad adv^ances. 

Little cares to i^reat ones <^row'. 
O'er our future's brightest <^lances. 

Creep tlie lenij^thenini;- shadows slow 

Ii6 



Hut as old agt: creeps upon us, 

'Tis the winter of our lives ; 
We can look around and wonder 

That so many still survive ; 
How they all have stood the tempest, 

That so sadly shattered some, 
And are now w^th patience waiting, 

For the call that bids them come. 

But as time so slowly passes, 

Touching all with fearless hand ; 
Help us Lord, to gain an entrance, 

To that holy, happy land. 
And whatever be our troubles, 

In this world so full of pain. 
Help us to bear all with patience. 

That we may thy blessings gain. 

117 



DECEMBLR SNOW. 



Sl()\\l\' the snow is fallinir, 

I^^roni the t^n-a\'isli clouds ahoxc, 
CoNcrin-;- iij) for tlic winter, 
Tlie tlowers that we love ; 
The wind hh)\\s liard, .and tlie fallint;- snow- 
Is (h*iftini4" ri^lit wliere the liUies i^row, 
And the pansies that we love. 

Slow!}' the snow is falling;-, 

From the cold December sky, 

As we sit b\' the fire and ponder, 
On the chill)' b)' and by. 

Hut the winter e\'enini;s.-tho' cold and chiT 

Bring compan\' merr\', the lunise to fill. 
And on pleasure we can reh'. 



Ii8 



Slowly the snow is falliny;, 

But the clouds are breakini; aw a\- ; 

Already we see in the western sky, 
The sions of a dying day. 

For the storm clouds fly and the sunset rare, 

Furnishes beauty beyond compare, 
And we welcome the close of da v. 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 



I love that bird in eastern grove. 
That sings with never ceasing love, 

Near Cairo's native sycamore ; 

Its rapturous notes do all adore. 

Oh netter, who station thee along. 

To steal the darling in full song, 
Do cease thy wicked plot to take. 
Nor steal from her her life-long mat< 



Vnv sc-c, tin- (k'.'ir little niotluT hird. 

At home with hci- \-oliiil;, (.lon't hear ii word, 
Ami leaning" licr sweetest head and neck, 
With her anxious eyes turned h-om lier nest. 

There dies in expectant attitude, 
Pines and ]:)erislies with all lier br(X)d. 

When the i^rass is dew\'. and tlie leaves are (^reen. 

And tile soft breath of morn steals o'er the scene. 

Fatlier hi id entices his tender young 

With iniunctio;is to list ere the day has bjgun ; 

Goes a little way off to teach liis song, 

Tlien he begins with a tender la\'. 

Pauses to watch the result of instructions a\\a\', 
Tluis da\' by da\' reiterating his lesson, 

Till his ])ui)il is equal to an\' positic^n ; 

And he iiad much rather that men wouldn't listen. 
1 20 



When siltrnce most absolute broods o'er the earth, 
In the deepest wildwood his soul pours forth ; 

Takes his love to the forest and there, undisturbed, 
He enchants her with music, the dear timid bird ! 

A lay not protracted, rich and defiant. 

In one burst of melody now in reliance. 

Pauses, the notes in reply a quivering song. 
From afar in the valley now sweeping along. 

Like a torrent, high, low, linked, broken and free, 
Now sinks till it sounds like the hum of a bee ; 
He now stops abruptly awaiting to hear 
The answer, which comes not, is defeated, I fear. 

Hark ! another step forward, sure the prince of his race 
Gives a new specimen of poetry with grace. 
He takes up his parable apparent at leizure. 
Beginning so lightly a preface with pleasure. 

After which he plunges into his epic so long. 
Displays all the art e'er presented by song. 

121 



THE POET. 

You SVC, when 1 was a little child, 

.\ttciulin<;" the district schoc^l, 
I hat! learned from the \'()ice of my mother mild, 

Vov it was the school maam's rule — 

A number of pieces of poetry; 

And as that I could do with ease, 
Supposed, of course, the art was in me. 

To compose it, if I should please. 

So I took my paper, pen and ink. 

Determined I would try; 
And I sat me down and tried to think, 

But the truth I cannot deny. 

1 turned to the east, and then to the west, 
F'rom there to the north and south. 

I thou<^ht of the one that I lo\'ed the best, 
And sat with wide opened mouth. 

122 



To think ot a subject to write about, 
And words that would nicely rhyme. 

Was a good deal harder than I had thought 
It to be ; and such a time 

As I had, ere I found to my chagrin, 
That composing was not my art. 

Why, 'twas easier, far, to sew with a pin, 
Than to play a poet's part. 



TO THE FARMER BOY. 



If you pursue with heart that's true, 

Your daily avocation. 
To plant and sow, to reap and mow, 
♦ And have a calculation. 
And stir with a will the ground you till, 

'Twill meet your approbation. 



12 



Tlierc's earnest toil in tilling; tin- soil. 

No fiends allure ; 
\'()iril ne'er be free from honest i^lee, 

Or blessings sure. 
Then li\e witli care and do not share, 

With thought impure. 

Then when a man, with bi^ brown hand, 

You work and sini:^; 
Aspire to free, with true charit\'. 

The poor from sin. 
Don't close your door nor e'er deplore, 

But ask them in. 

The world is cold, for young or old, 

In adverse fate ; 
Hut do not mind those tliat's unkind, 

The}''ll soon berate; 
And ere }'ou descr)-, tlie worth\''s cry ; 

Don't stand too late. 
124 



For those with pelf, li\^c oft for self. 

Nor deem it wise. . 
To free from want, but sneer and taunt, 

Witli dim eyes. 
There'll be no need, nor miser greed, 

Beyond the skies. 

If e'er in life you take a wife, 

To share your 'state ; 
Don't put her down with surly frown, 

And w^ork her late ; 
Don't fill your board with greedy hoard, 

Her service underate. 

If you have men, just tell her when 

To look for them. 
It does perplex, and often vex, 

To set the table again. 
The pies and cakes, the chairs and plates, 

All to rearrange. 

12; 



I)i>n't hriiiLi- tlK-ni in loi- shiiiini,^ tin. 

Without telling- her. 
Tlicn surely sa\'. 'twill take all clay. 

If she docs defer. 
Djar boy, forbear for hers the care, 

Wc steadily aver. 

'Tis ijood to win, from toil and din. 



A grand estate. 



THE SEASONS. 



JANUARY. 

Pale shines the sun o'er drifts of snow, 

That sparkle bright. 
The cold winter to us hath many a charm, 

With its starry nights. 
And the glowing fireside warm, 

While moonbeams fall ; 
We will mirth with labor olend, 

'Tho wild winds call. 

126 



FEBRUARY. 

There's little change, 'tho wind and rain 

Makes lucid snow ; 
And drifts are frozen, a path now chosen. 

Instead of highways low. 
Gives thouorhts of earth awaking 

And springtime lade, 
With beauteous flowers and song birds, 

That fill the glade. 

MARCH. 

And here is stormy March at last, 

Lingers still the stifling blast; 
While the showers come and go. 

And leaves the water with the snow. 
But flowers, sweet, so soon will come, 

And peep their eyes out one by one ; 
Loving dreamers sleeping now, 

On the old hill's loftv brow. 



127 



M'KII.. 

lender the hiixh the \iolcts prep. 

Blue aiul w bite ; 
Aiul piirj)lc and j^olcl the lillics slcc]), 

'Ncatli winter's bli^lit. 
]-iluc birds and robins ha\'c come to cliccr, 

Mcar them, hark I 
And the sad-toned \'oice so sweet and clear 



Of the o-olden lark 



MAY. 

Beneath the maple's buddin;^ shade. 

Is pink max'flowers. 
Their frac^rance sweet fills all the i^iade, 

Gladness is ours. 
The summer birds with impulse hi^h, 

Sinu^ loud refrains: 
Oh, merr\' month, with wakeful e\'e. 

Welcome af^'iin ! 



I2cS 



jrNK. 
Month of rare and sweet perfume, 

That charit}' bestows ; 
Humming- birds with brightest plume, 

Fh"t where flowers grow. 
Oh, heart of mine, do not repine! 

Glad summer is here. 
And flowers the tree w4th buds incline, 

And song birds cheer. 

JULY. 

The cereals nodding low half filled. 

Not incentive sure. 
The locusts cry, and the rivulet's dry, 

The threatening clouds pass o'er. 
The willows fade, round meadows fair, 

The birds are still ; 
Yet oft in flocks to the river repair, 

To drink at will. 

129 



AUCI'SI. 

Now th<' AiiL^ust cla\'s arc sweet. 

All nature stirred ; 
Fi^y the rain did fall in siUer slieets. 

And cheered the birds; 
And bright are the c)'es of the flowers, 

Hut it looks like fall. 
The\' fall and fade, nor fragrant staycd- 

The crickets call. 

SEPTEMBER. 

The autumn's lovHest breezes fan 

The hill and plain ; 
And take awa\' tlie \erdure i^reen. 

Till sprinL^ ai^ain. 
At earh' morn the perfumed air, 

Tells of dy in 14" leaves; 
And flowers, the i^^ems mcxst fair. 

But faintU' breathe. 



OCTOBKK. 

All the folia^i^e has lost its crimson, 

And dewy ripeness ; 
And the clouds are gazing sadly, 

To their likeness; 
In the wayward winding stream, 

Glossy leaf, 
And dewy flowers fall beneath 



Time's wing. 



NOVEMBER. 



Now the wild flowers sweet, have gone to sleep 

Beneath the hill, 
By the side of the little streamlet, 

And all is still. 
For all the birds that here have been, 

Sing thro' the hours, 
The pleasant hours, in brighter scenes, 

Amid the flowers. 



131- 



DI'XKMI'.KK. 

Conic, o-atlicr 'round the fireside. 

This hlusterin;^ eve ; 
And wliile the sncnv falls deep and wide, 

Lets nieni'ries weave! 
Vov w ho can tell what mai^ic spell 

llokls lis entranced? 
As we gaze into the firelight's glow. 

To see the briuht coals dance. 






132 



\ '.^- 



iffliTillfi . 

0,018 597 036 A ^ 



" V . -> 




